


Days Like These

by Demus



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Friendship/Love, Light Angst, Love, M/M, Open Relationships, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:23:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demus/pseuds/Demus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'It never starts the same way. Sometimes it's simple, a tilt of the head, a bite of the lip. Sometimes the sarcasm darkens, the humour twists like a bladed edge, and Rhett knows he won't be alone when he goes home this evening.'</p><p>On days like these, Rhett knows what Link needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days Like These

**Author's Note:**

> This is tangentially/thematically linked to 'Goodbye at the Driveway', but it works as a standalone if you've not read that one :)
> 
> Disclaimer; This is a work of fiction starring fictionalised versions of real people. No claims are made about the people in this story or the relationship here portrayed.

It never starts the same way. Sometimes it's simple, a tilt of the head, a bite of the lip. Sometimes the sarcasm darkens, the humour twists like a bladed edge, and Rhett knows he won't be alone when he goes home this evening. He texts Jessie (“Mind if I keep the house to myself tonight?”) and her reply (“Look after him.”) is instant. He loves his wife, tells her so, smiles at her response and waits.

The whole mood at the studio is different on these days. Link keeps to himself, holed up in the office where he types and types and types, endless scrolling words that flicker on the lenses of his glasses. Rhett leaves him to it. He wanders in every so often with a bottle of water and endeavours to put a sandwich within easy reach around lunchtime, but otherwise makes a point of spending time with the crew. Some of their newer team members haven't quite got to grips with their dynamic yet and shoot worried glances in the direction of the office when they think Rhett isn't looking, but he keeps quiet. Mid-afternoon, on the way to the editing suite, he walks past the kitchen and catches Stevie rolling her eyes at one of the interns, hears her say that last few syllables of “Of _course_ they haven't fallen out.” 

He meets Stevie's eye over the intern's head, shares her knowing smile, and continues on his way.

On days like these, they always leave early.

When they step out into the parking lot, Link drops the keys into his hand and strides off towards the car without a backwards glance. Rhett tries not to smirk and ambles after him. Once in the car, his friend is a restless presence; he fusses with the strings of his hoodie, winding ends around and around his fingers, plucking at the plastic tips, breaking the pattern ever now and then to adjust his sleeves. Link is one of nature's fidgets; never still, not even in sleep. When his phone goes off, sudden in the silence, he startles then scrambles to read the text and tap out a reply. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Rhett sees his knee start to bounce.

By the time they reach the McLaughlin household, the fidgeting has reached critical mass. Link's still holding his phone, turning it over and over in his hands and the moment the car stops, he hurriedly stuffs it into his pocket and tumbles out, slamming the car door shut and heading swiftly up the drive.

Rhett follows. By the time he reaches the door, Link is already pacing, arms folded across his chest. Rhett pauses before putting the key in the lock and steps deliberately into his friend's path to halt him. _Really?_

Link meets his gaze squarely. _Really_.

Full lips are pursed, the bottom lip swollen from being worried at by anxious teeth, and there is is yearning in Link's gaze, open and unafraid. It would be easy to kiss him. Here, in this most liberal of states, it would be so easy to take him by the hand here on the stoop, to lean in with the certain knowledge that he would be met halfway, that he would be welcome. Rhett turns away instead, fits key to lock, steps over the threshold.

The door has barely swung shut before Link is on him, hands in his hair, pulling him down into a fierce embrace. His kisses are needy, his mouth wet with the hot, human taste of him. He presses close, electric heat and lean muscle. Rhett closes his arms tight, anchoring him; Link is not a small man, but he has always been slight and willowy, a bough to bend rather than break, so light he might flutter away if Rhett doesn't keep his grip firm. They break for breath, Rhett's name the first word Link has said to him all day, hushed in the air between them before he leans up into another kiss.

Rhett smooths his hands down Link's back, stroking the lean curve from shoulder to hip. _Easy now._

Pain, sharp in his lip, he flinches. Link has nipped in retaliation. He is clearly in no mood to be coddled. Rhett starts to move, but warmth follows the sting as Link's tongue soothes the sore sport, so instead he takes the unspoken invitation and licks into his friend's mouth. Link's fingers tighten briefly in his hair then slip to his neck, almost cradling his skull. _Better_.

 _Not yet_. Link draws back. He already looks a little hazy around the eyes, a little kiss-drunk, and he wriggles his hips, sudden shifting pressure. _Bed?_

Heat, that old familiar pulse of arousal, stirs inside him and he takes a firmer grasp of Link's hips, stroking the sharp jut of bone with his thumbs. He flexes his fingers, squeezing, enjoying the hitch of his friend's breath, the widening of blue eyes. He kisses him again because he can, because Link has been tense and grouchy and irritable all day but he opens up under Rhett's tongue, pliant because he's getting what he wants. Link's fingers are cool against Rhett's neck, in stark contrast to the rest of him. He's pushing up on his toes, rocking up into Rhett's embrace, the muscles of his ass pulled tight in a way that makes Rhett _hungry_. 

Sometimes, he thinks they could kiss like this for hours. Sometimes it's a game, something joyous, something mischievous. Not today. 

Today, Link is wound tighter than a spring, impatient to be touched. He's all but straddling Rhett's leg, closing what scant distance remains between them. Strangely, he reminds Rhett of his younger self when he's like this – the latchkey kid too scared to leave his own couch in case of monsters, the kid who wouldn't ever, ever tell when he was hurting. Once upon a time, Rhett could only be a passive observer to this anxiety, far too young to know what comfort could be offered. How times have changed.

There's a whimper to the edge of Link's breath when they break apart. His glasses are a little fogged, hanging askew on his nose, and Rhett spares a hand to tug them free of his face; there's usually a double-blink when he does this whilst his friend adjusts to a world of blurred edges. Link's instinct is to stay close when he's vulnerable and Rhett knows that he hates to be without his glasses when they're out; here in the familiarity of the McLaughlin home, however, he blink-blinks and Rhett feels his fingers twist into the errant curls at the base of his neck.

_Please_

There is no denying this man. _Yes_. Link worms his way free of Rhett's embrace, grabbing his hand and turning to lead him down the hall, up the stairs; he pauses on the landing, hesitant, and Rhett takes the opportunity to tug him back into his arms, enjoying his flinch of surprise before kissing him soundly. No red-blooded male should ever have to walk behind Link when he's climbing a flight of stairs.

When he's released, Link gulps and stares up at him, wild-eyed. “Rhett-”

Thankfully the guest room is right here, and Jessie's painstakingly organised décor is going to be spared from harm. Rhett all but shoves his friend through the door, leaning in to cut off whatever plea he was about to make. Maybe it's unfair to use his physical advantage but it's not like Link is made of glass. His hands scrabble for grip on Rhett's shoulders, fingers digging in. Perhaps it's his confidence, his need for control that makes Rhett want to sweep his feet out from under him. Link won't back down, won't give him the satisfaction; his lips are alive against Rhett's, matching him breath for breath, kiss for kiss.

They're pulling at each other's clothes, Rhett dimly realises, even as he finds the zipper of Link's hoodie and yanks it open. Link shrugs himself free, pulling at Rhett's buttons. They are moving towards the bed, shedding shirts and pants in a demented breadcrumb trail. Link delights in Rhett's skin, greedy for each new inch. His touches are certain and knowing, firm enough not to trigger Rhett's ticklishness. By contrast, he keeps his own caresses light. There are days when Link likes to be caught up in Rhett's wake and swept along, and today is not one of those days.

The tumble, when it comes, is a surprise; Link yelps, startled, as he careens backwards onto the bed and Rhett doesn't have time to think or to slow his fall onto sweet-scented sheets. Thankfully, he lands on the mattress rather than on Link, who recovers a few seconds quicker than Rhett and shoves him over onto his side, wriggling in close. The blankets are cool against his skin and Link is hot everywhere they touch as he slides a leg between Rhett's, the soft brush of his stomach, snuggling in until they are chest-to-chest, his hair falling haphazard and ticklish into Rhett's eyes. 

It takes all of Rhett's self-control not to flip him over and start doing things his way.

He could use something to sink his teeth into, but unfortunately all he has nearby is Link's mouth and the man really doesn't need any encouragement to bite. What Rhett wants to do – what he always wants to do at this point – is to take Link in hand, in mouth, tease the first orgasm from him to blunt his desperation so that when they join, he can take all the time he needs to stroke and stretch, to caress, to care. Link fights when he does it, doesn't want to be cared for, doesn't want Rhett's caution or his kindness. Rhett knows what he wants when he's in this sort of mood.

He wants _Rhett_.

For the moment, he seems content simply to move, to slide his cock against Rhett's bare belly, along the rigid press of his dick, marking territory that is only half his. Rhett can't help but move with him, the tock to Link's tick, following his rhythm. He like to set the pace, typically, but Link is squirming against him like the teenager Rhett used to tell himself he didn't want and his lips catch Rhett's as he rocks, rocks, rocks into him.

Rhett closes his hands, not surprised to find them full of warm skin. Link grunts, his hips flex, and he wriggles his ass back into Rhett's grip, shameless. There's empty space between Rhett's thumbs and he tests the give of his friend's skin, stroking the curve, daring to delve _between_...

The lube and condoms are in the top drawer. 

He remembers this only when Link erupts into action, pushing him onto his back, swinging a leg over him and leaning up to fumble with the nightstand; his chest is suddenly in Rhett's face, a safe target at last for his teeth so Rhett bites and feels the full-body jerk, _feels_ Link's groan. He squeezes again, brazen this time, fingers digging in to spread Link open. 

It never feels like going through the motions. Link's fingers are clumsy with haste, dripping and slick as he works into himself, covering Rhett's hands with lube, his other forearm awkwardly braced against Rhett's chest. He's still moving, still trying to rub against Rhett even though he's pinioned. He's panting, his face tight with concentration, moving with furious haste. _Steady, now._. Rhett dares to stroke, just a little, circling around Link's desperate, thrusting fingers. He dares to push his forehead to Link's, offering the smallest comfort. _Steady_.

 _No_. Link kisses him, all teeth, takes advantage of Rhett's s surprise to wriggle free of his hands and clamber upright. Rhett barely hears the tearing of the foil; he's trying to lean up, to capture Link's wrist, to slow his pace, but his friend is too fast for him. All Rhett can do his push into sudden pressure, letting out a groan at the shock of cold latex as Link rolls the condom into place and strokes him once, twice, with lube-slippery fingers. 

That's all the preparation he gets. Link stops after the second stroke, moving to brace his hands on Rhett's chest, and even as Rhett's hips jerk in protest of the loss of touch, he sets his shoulders and pushes back in one long, slow, agonising thrust. His body opens to Rhett like it was born to, like Link was made to take his cock, like he was made to be fucked.

Link pauses, his breath high, gasping with pain. Rhett feels his hands clench into the skin of his friend's thighs, squeezing away the urge to stop him. He could do it. He could roll away, pin Link under his superior weight and let him thrash out all of that desperate energy, but he doesn't. Link's eyes, clenched shut, slowly soften, lids creeping open as he gradually relaxes. He moves, shifting his weight, and Rhett grits his teeth at the feel of hot, slick muscle all around him. Link is tight, so tight, because when he's like this he doesn't care if he hurts himself, he doesn't care about the bruises or the scrapes, he just _wants_ and will not wait.

There was a time when everything was rushed. He remembers Link's teeth sinking deep as they made rough merciless love, remembers the hatred, hating to want his best friend, hating to be wanted. He remembers the last gasp, the last shudder, sweat barely cooled on his skin before he rolled off and up, out of his friend's arms, out of the bed, out of the door. He remembers hearing the faint edge of sobs, remembers biting his own fist against loss so white-hot it felt like anger.

As if reading his mind (who is he kidding? All of his thoughts are transparent to this man), Link strokes his chest, petting in vague, distracted motions; he's bearing his own weight now, no longer holding himself up on his arms, and his cock stands proud between them, untouched. Blue eyes are shadowed by the fall of Link's hair, the tilt of his head, and his mouth hangs open as he breathes his way through the stretch, the burn that Rhett knows he craves on these strange, off-kilter days. _Stop it_.

Oh God, he wants to move. _Stop what?_

_Thinking._

It's an easy command to obey. Link starts to move, slowly at first, tiny undulations that build as he finds a rhythm. Rhett struggles for leverage, to meet his thrusts, but Link's knocked him onto his back for a reason; as loathe as he is to admit it, his spine is weaker than it once was and Link knows exactly what he will and won't risk, so all he can do is follow. 

Link is rolling his hips now, head thrown back as he rocks himself in Rhett's lap. He's panting. Rhett can feel the ricochet of his breaths where they are joined, _hotwetsweetsoretight._ It's not just the Mythical Beasts who appreciate Link's flexibility. His back arches, his shoulders thrown back as he thrusts, struggling to find that spot he's looking for, scrabbling for grip on slippery skin. Rhett touches every inch of him he can reach, his hands still slick with lube, tracing out straining muscle, thrumming veins, until with great deliberation, he takes Link's cock in hand and begins to stroke. 

With a hoarse groan, Link collapses forwards, landing with his hands either side of Rhett's head, chest-to-chest, skin-to-skin-to-skin, the brush of his nose as they move together, mouth-to-mouth but too far gone to kiss, the smell and weight and feel of him, the heat and sweetness, the sweat, the heart, the bitterness, the soul of him, him, oh God, oh _Link_. His friend cries out, a high, desperate cry, thrashing helplessly into orgasm, covering Rhett's fingers, his stomach, dragging Rhett over the edge with him.

Neither of them ever last long, not on days like these.

Stillness, but for the heave of their chests.

Link stirs. He lifts his head from the crook of Rhett's neck. Blue eyes are hazy when he meets Rhett's gaze, finally at peace, kiss-swollen lips smiling a wicked smile. “Save a horse?” he says, teasing.

Rhett has just enough energy to swat him, groaning when his jump of surprise causes his inner muscles to clench. “Time to dismount, brother.”

Link doesn't seem quite ready for that, judging by the sigh, but he hoists himself up, dropping a sloppy smooch to Rhett's forehead as he painstakingly works himself free. Rhett clamps his jaw shut, fighting the urge to move as Link wriggles carefully off him. Once off, he slumps to the side with a grunt, his arm flopping across Rhett's chest. 

For a long moment, the only sound is the slowing of their breath.

Rhett nudges him _Okay?_

No answer. He looks and sees Link's mouth has already dropped open in slumber. “How do you do that?”

Unsurprisingly, his friend doesn't answer. The man is a mess. He looks- Well, he looks well and and truly fucked. Rhett, tiredness leaden in his limbs, briefly considers attempting a clean-up operation, but Link looks to have used over a third of the KY in his haste, he's beyond wet with it (and damn if that doesn't curl in Rhett's stomach like hunger) and the sheets are going to need a damn good laundering anyway. So instead, he removes and knots the condom, dropping it off the edge of the bed, tugs the sheet free and tucks it around them both. They have a couple of hours until their wives will expect them; he settles down into the mattress and allows himself to doze.


End file.
